If she’s wearing any.
The sight is enough to have bile rising sharply in my throat.
“Ummm, is she aware that he’s taken?” Everly sounds offended enough for both of us.
I should probably bring her up to speed on the situation, but an explanation stays lodged in my throat. The truth of the matter is that Kingsley is no longer my boyfriend. Maybe he never was. Maybe it was all a game.
Instead I mutter, “Yup, she’s aware.”
“You need to go over there and stake your claim,” she encourages. “I really hate girls that poach.”
Stake my claim?
Ha!
Not a chance in hell. I wouldn’t give Kingsley the satisfaction of thinking his behavior bothers me in the least. “It’s fine. We all know where we stand.” That’s about as much of the truth as I can give her.
When I continue to stare, Sloan glances over before her lips lift into a triumphant smile.
“I don’t know,” Everly mutters, “she seems to think she won.”
Well, if she wants to consider Kingsley a prize, then, yeah, I guess she did.
Chapter Nineteen
After fourth hour, Everly is waiting at my locker with her bagged lunch in hand. A pit the size of Texas sits at the bottom of my gut. After watching Sloane do everything possible to keep Kingsley focused on her during first hour, there’s no way I can eat in the cafeteria. Worse than that, he seemed to welcome her fawning attention. It was enough to make me sick.
“You ready?” she asks.
My gaze darts away as I pull open the metal door of my locker. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to work in the library instead.” I pull my calc and psychology book from the metal shelf. “I’ve fallen behind and have a ton of work to catch up on.”
Concern flashes across her face as her brow furrows. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” I hoist my smile, not wanting her to worry, “I’m drowning in missing assignments. Thirty minutes should be enough to plow through a few of them.”
“All right, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.” With a quick hug, she takes off toward the cafeteria.
I release an unsteady breath as she turns the corner and disappears from sight before slamming my locker closed and heading to the library. Much like the cafeteria, the area is spacious with wood beams and gorgeous stained-glass windows that allow sunlight to pour in. Rows of leather-bound volumes fill the shelves. The bookcases that line the perimeter stretch toward the ceiling, requiring one of the rolling ladders to reach the top.
With my head bent, I make my way through the maze of shelves to the very back corner. I need to regroup. Thirty minutes isn’t nearly enough time to soothe all the hurt and confusion raging within, but it’s all I’ve got.
Ever since I stepped foot on campus this morning, people have been staring like I’m a circus freak on display. I realize it’s because my dad died, but it serves as an ugly reminder of my treatment the first couple weeks of school. Even though it’s gotten better, there are still a lot of students who avoid me. The Hawthorne family has been hated in these parts for generations and that isn’t going to change overnight.
With a huff of breath, I collapse onto a wooden chair and open my calculus textbook. I have five missing assignments that need to be turned in ASAP. Focusing on the first one forces me to stop dwelling on Dad and the state of my fractured relationship with Kingsley. For a few blissful minutes, the sorrow and grief recede enough for problem-solving skills to take over.
There’s something therapeutic about working through the complicated equations. A slight sense of satisfaction fills me when I finish the first two and tackle the third. Who would have ever thought I would enjoy calculus? But you know what? In order to work out the computations, I have to concentrate. And to do that, I need to block out all the static in my head.
I’m about to wrap up the fourth problem when someone settles on the top of the table I’m camped out at. Khakis fill my line of vision as I stifle a gasp. There’s no need to glance up. The delicate hair at the nape of my neck rises with awareness, tipping me off as to who I’ll find.
Confirmation comes in the form of a question.
“Why isn’t your ass in the cafeteria?”
My heartbeat picks up its tempo as I blank my features and force myself to meet Kingsley’s gaze before waving a hand at the textbook splayed open in front of me. “I needed to catch up on some missing assignments.”
“That’s strange,” he muses, “I don’t recall giving you permission to work in the library.”
Permission?
Did he really say that?
Heat slams into my cheeks as my temper ignites.